


A Long Way from the Playground

by mmaree



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Disorder, Artist Zayn, Awkward First Times, Bottom Zayn, Childhood Friends, Drinking, Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Enemies, Hand Jobs, Infidelity, Insecure Zayn, Jealousy, M/M, Pining, Top Louis, Zayn-centric, brief homophobic language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 06:02:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5080471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmaree/pseuds/mmaree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i></i><br/>Zayn wasn’t quite sure when he first realised he was in love with the boy with the ocean eyes and the Peter Pan smile.</p><p>  <i>But although Zayn couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he fell for his best mate, he could, however, recall the precise instant they fell apart.  It was five years ago--nearly to the day--when Louis had uttered those four words.  Yet, when they were spoken, neither boy could have known those four innocent words would equal the end.</i></p><p>  <i>And, perhaps, it was better that way.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Long Way from the Playground

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zarry3 (Jeri_1116)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeri_1116/gifts).



 

“You’ve no idea how bloody excited I am for you to meet him,” Liam admitted. He stood in front of the hall mirror, appraising his appearance with the critical eye he brought to nearly everything he did. Zayn was sat at the kitchen table, an art history book open to Caravaggio’s _Denial of Saint Peter_ before him. He smiled in amusement as he watched his flatmate unfasten then refasten the top of his crisp, blue button-down. Liam, noticing Zayn’s expression, sheepishly dropped his hands to his side. “But really--thanks for doing this, Zayn.”

A flicker of concern crossed Zayn’s features. “Um, I thought you said you were just going to, like, introduce us and all. You weren’t expecting--”

“’Course not,” Liam reassured him, combing his fingers through his short quiff. “We were planning on seeing a film tonight, and I think he wants to grab a bite beforehand. I promise we won’t be in your hair too long. I just wanted to, well, get your opinion of him, that’s all.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s fine, then,” Zayn replied, burying his nose back in his textbook. He’d much rather be creating art than analysing it, but that was life. He even had a massive canvas in his bedroom just begging to be painted. All he needed was some free time and a spot of inspiration, and he’d be set. Unfortunately, time and inspiration were limited resources in the life of a university student.

“I look alright, yeah?” Liam pressed.

“Perfect, Li,” Zayn murmured without looking up.

“Good,” Liam breathed. “I don’t want to, you know, look like I’m trying too hard. I don’t think he fancies the posh type. He’s kind of a lad, I’d say. You should’ve seen him down the pub with Niall last night. Thought they were gonna get into it when Derby scored off a bum penalty….”

Zayn pretended to be listening to his flatmate prattle on about a match he could care less about. In his opinion, there were far more important things in this word than football--things like studying for his exams and not mucking up the blank canvas that cost him nearly fifty quid. He wished he hadn’t listened to Harry when he told him to buy the largest canvas in the shop, but there was fuck all he could do about that now.

“Zayn, mind if I use your hairspray?”

“Help yourself.” Zayn chuckled as his flatmate ran off. “He must be proper fit--this lad you’re meeting, I mean.”

Liam poked his head out of the bathroom. “I’ll let you decide _that_ for yourself when you meet him.”

Zayn shook his head and refocused his attention on the book in front of him. “This is the guy you met after your lecture last week, yeah?” he asked absently while trying to recall what the bloody hell “chiaroscuro” meant. Impatiently, he flipped back a few pages and was rewarded with a deep papercut that stung like the dickens.

“You should’ve bought the e-book, mate.”

“Thanks for the advice, Captain Obvious. So, what’s this dude’s name anyway?”

“Told you already, man,” Liam chided, handing him a plaster from the box he’d just set on the table.

“Cheers much, Li.” Zayn grinned when he saw it had a Batman design. You’d never know the two were in their second year of uni judging by the contents or general décor of their flat. But, honestly, Zayn preferred it that way. He wasn’t bothered much about other peoples’ opinions.

Well, not anymore, at least.

Liam was clucking his tongue in that way of his. “Why do you have to be such a stereotypical artist with your head in the clouds and all that rubbish? Why can’t you listen when I’m giving you massively important information like the names of fit blokes who ask me out on dates?”

“Sorry, it’s hard to keep track,” Zayn joked. “Be honest, mate. You’ve probably got a queue of suitors lined up at the front door.”

“Nah, they’re sat in the back garden--haven’t you noticed? Seriously though, you’d know what it was like if you were even a bit more social,” Liam scolded. “I get gobs of people asking after you. They all want to know if your hair is real and whether you wear mascara.”

Zayn cocked an eyebrow. “So, what do you tell them?”

“Yes and no,” Liam answered, licking his lips. “But not necessarily in that particular order.”

“You’re a right bastard,” Zayn laughed, chucking the box of plasters at his flatmate. Liam caught it expertly with one hand and was about to bung it back at him when there was an unexpected knock at their door. Liam glanced down at his watch. “Aw fuck--he’s bloody early. Shit, he didn’t look the type to be early. I ain’t even dressed yet.” Liam gestured frantically towards his bare feet with a look that bordered on panic-stricken.

“I’ll get it,” Zayn volunteered easily, trying to contain his amusement. He waited until Liam had disappeared into his bedroom before answering the door. He had just extended his hand and was about to introduce himself to their visitor when he froze mid-action.

Zayn’s breath hitched in his throat, and really, you couldn’t blame him if his jaw dropped several inches because there on the doorstep--on _his_ doorstep--was none other than Louis Tomlinson.

 

*****

 

Zayn wasn’t quite sure when he first realised he was in love with the boy with the ocean eyes and the Peter Pan smile.

For a long time, the two of them had been the best of mates, inseparable in every way. They ate lunch at the same table each day, collected slimy and crawly things from around the neighbourhood, and as they got older, snuck rude magazines into their backpacks. On such occasions, Louis would take the lead. They’d sit in the back of the bus with the contraband and Louis would teach Zayn about “female genitalia” with an almost clinical accuracy. Zayn did his best to follow along with every lesson. Unfortunately, he was often distracted by the way his friend’s eyes lit up with mischief or the way his tongue sometimes curled across his bottom lip in the most compelling way.

But although Zayn couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he fell for his best mate, he could, however, recall the precise instant they fell apart. It was five years ago--nearly to the day--when Louis had uttered those four words. Yet, when they were spoken, neither boy could have known those four innocent words would equal the end.

And, perhaps, it was better that way.

It was a hot and muggy September day, and the pair had just come in from skateboarding. Louis had stripped off his sweat-soaked shirt as soon as they walked into the Malik house. As usual at this time of the day, Zayn had the house to himself. The two boys would often hang out here on lazy afternoons, playing video games until Louis’ mum would start ringing him to come home for dinner. That day, the day they fell apart, started off like any other.

In retrospect, Zayn blamed the intense heat. If only it weren’t quite so blisteringly hot that afternoon, Louis wouldn’t have taken his kit off. Consequently, Zayn wouldn’t have had to peel his eyes away from his best mate’s bare chest. He wouldn’t have noticed the beads of perspiration forming there either.

But it was, and so he did.

Zayn stood there staring at his mate until he felt his jeans become impossibly tight. Mumbling a barrage of half-formed excuses, he darted to his bedroom. Closing the door with a frustrated groan, he flopped on his bed. After only a brief moment of indecision, he gave in. Quietly, he unzipped his jeans and slid them down along with his pants. He closed his eyes and tried to think of something-- _anything_ \--that would make the awkward problem pressing hard against his stomach go away. That was when he heard those four damn words:

“Can I touch it?”

His heart beating rapidly, Zayn clumsily covered himself with his hands. At first, he thought Louis was just taking the piss because of course he was. That was what Louis did. Zayn glanced up at his mate apologetically, embarrassed by the fact that Louis had just caught him lying on his bed, sporting a massive stiffy.

“Well, _can_ I?” Louis insisted, his blue-green orbs firmly cemented on his best friend’s dick which, honestly, Zayn was doing a rather bodged job of concealing. Zayn’s member was tannish, cut, and a whole lot bigger than Louis probably would have imagined--not that he spent gobs of time thinking about his friends’ dicks, mind you. Louis seemed mesmerised, struck by the contrast from his own pink, intact member.

Not surprisingly, Zayn was set aback by Louis’ question. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand why Louis would want to touch his willy. Boys didn’t touch other boys’ willies; everyone knew that. To be fair, he _had_ heard of men doing some of the things Louis described when they studied naughty mags and Vines.

But not in West Yorkshire. _Definitely_ not in West Yorkshire.

“ _Zayn_?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” Zayn consented, his voice hoarse and a full octave deeper. For a minute, all was still. Zayn heard Louis’ quick breaths keep time with the ticking of his alarm clock, felt goose pimples erupt all over his heated flesh, sensed the anticipation stirring in the stifling atmosphere. Then, without warning, it happened. Zayn felt his pupils roll to the back of his head as Louis’ fingers flirted across his tip and trailed slowly down his length. He could barely breathe; he didn’t _dare_ breathe, in fact. The sensation was so good, so overwhelmingly good.

And then it was over.

With a reluctant sigh, Louis removed his hand. “I just…wanted to see what it would feel like,” he confessed, “since yours is, y’know, _different_ than mine and all.” He readjusted himself in his trousers, trying to disguise the tell-tale bulge Zayn had already spotted.

Zayn sat up on the bed, covering himself with a pillow. He licked his lips nervously as he thought about what he was about to say. “May I…I mean, like, if you want I could…touch yours but only if you’re okay with it, of course.” Zayn gulped. He felt dizzy. He wanted to touch Louis’ dick more than he ever wanted anything in his life, more than he even wanted that Zero ‘blood skull’ board he’d gotten for his last birthday.

“Uh, yeah…if you fancy touching it.” Louis’ eyes opened wide in surprise. “Yeah, sure.”

Zayn was overjoyed, filled with a mixture of exhilaration and impetuousness. He tugged his best mate’s trousers down and reached into his pants without a second thought. His inexpert hand enclosed around the rod of smooth flesh. Louis shuddered, no doubt startled by how cool Zayn’s hands were. The boy was strangely thrilled to have another hand on his dick--a dude’s hand, to boot.

Louis groaned internally as Zayn’s grip slackened. When he realised Zayn was removing his hand altogether, panic overtook him.

“Do you fancy, y’know…giving me a hand job, perhaps?” he choked out. His dick was throbbing from the recent contact. Zayn had gone further than he expected, and now he needed more. Just a little more.

“Alright.” Zayn’s brow furrowed. “A hand job? Sure, no problem. Um, so what exactly does that involve, like?”

Louis pursed his lips and Zayn at once picked up on his friend’s disapproval. “But Louis,” he whinged, “you didn’t go over the bloke parts and--”

“So, haven’t you ever done yours, Malik? I mean, haven’t you made yourself jizz in your hand or whatever?”

“You mean like wank or something?” Zayn’s cheeks turned a deep crimson as the words spilt out. He could hear his heart hammering in his chest and was certain the boy next to him could hear it as well.

“Obviously.”

“No then,” he answered, nervously smoothing out an ebony eyebrow with a trembling finger.

Louis looked at him aghast. “Why the bloody hell not?”

“I dunno…was too embarrassed maybe.” His eyes were once again trained on Louis’ hard member. The sight stirred something inside of him, something that made him forget about his reservations.

“Go on, then,” Louis urged him, leaning back on the bed. “I can tell you’re up for it. Go on.”

Zayn nodded, biting his lower lip in concentration as he clasped his right hand around his best mate’s erection. With a steely determination, he worked his hand up and down the other boy’s shaft. Soon, he had found a rhythm, one that suited them both.

Hazily, Louis peeked down and realised he’d never been this big before, didn’t even realise he was capable of growing this big. As he tried to hold himself up on his shaky elbows, his breath caught in his throat. He saw how his erection was turning an angry red, saw how his foreskin was pulled back every time the bronzed hand slid downwards. Zayn’s hands were small, almost delicate, yet they tugged on Louis’ dick with an urgency that bowled him over.

No matter how he tried not to stare, his eyes kept returning to the hand working him. Louis’ eyelids fluttered as Zayn’s thumb swept over the tip of his dick, smoothing out the pearl of pre-cum like he’d been doing this sort of thing for years. Zayn was a Goddamn natural.

It wasn’t long before Louis came with a ferocity that scared both boys. Wave after wave hit him as he fingers clutched Zayn’s sheets. Panting, he somehow collected himself, then looked down to see Zayn’s hand still painfully pumping his spent member. He panicked as he locked eyes with the other boy. Then, all of a sudden, it was as if a light had been switched on.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” His voice rose in pitch and volume with each word.

The blood drained from Zayn’s face as he struggled to answer. “I-I was just--”

“Yeah, I know, you fucking perv!”

“But Louis…I…I thought--”

“I don’t care what you thought, you filthy poof. Get your mitts off my dick and get out of my face!”

“But I swear I--”

“Just piss off!”

Zayn nodded, his eyes welling with tears. He almost seemed drunk as he stumbled towards the door-- _his_ door. Zayn gave Louis one last pleading look before he left the room. It was met with nothing but a cold, blank stare from his friend who was almost like a brother to him.

Louis couldn’t believe what had just occurred. But most of all, he couldn’t believe he came like never before with the touch of Zayn’s hands and with thoughts of Zayn in his head.

He felt disgusting.

But he didn’t have time for such thoughts. He needed to dress quickly. He needed to leave the Malik house and never look back. He hated Zayn, hated him with every fibre of his being. Nothing would change that just as nothing would change the awful secret they shared.

The next day, Zayn didn’t want to go to school.

He told his mum he was sick, and she allowed him to stay home because Zayn wasn’t the type of boy who sagged off from school. Somehow, he muddled through that year. It was much easier the next year when Zayn transferred to another school. He eventually made new friends--friends who accepted him and didn’t snicker and point with the popular kids in the corridors. He thought he was never going to set eyes on Louis Tomlinson again, and in his book, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

But, evidently, fate had other plans.

 

*****

 

“You’re gay?” Zayn sputtered, staring at Louis in the hallway as if he had a third eye. He knew it probably wasn’t the standard way to address one’s former best mate (especially after a five year separation), but the irony was just too much to take.

Louis bristled. “You’re surprised, mate? Don’t tell me you were expecting the bloke taking your flatmate out to be straight?”

“No, I meant like….” Zayn felt his heartrate start to quicken. He closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath. “I mean, I didn’t think you were into guys after…after… _you_ know.”

“No, I don’t bloody know,” he snapped and Zayn stared at him incredulously. Louis had a slightly irritated air about him, but that was it. If he was bothered by seeing Zayn, he certainly didn’t let on. “Well, you gonna invite me in?”

Zayn didn’t say anything-- _couldn’t_ say anything--so Louis pushed his way past him. Zayn closed the door and leaned against it as if he were holding it up and not the other way around.

“So what’s your name?” Louis asked casually as he settled on the sofa, kicking his trainers up on the antique coffee table which was one of Liam’s prized possessions. Louis must have noticed Zayn staring at his feet because he snorted and removed them from the table. “Well?”

“Huh?”

“We’ll try this again, shall we?” Louis mockingly observed. “The name’s Tomlinson. Louis Tomlinson. Now, what’s yours?”

“M-my name?” Zayn mustered. Louis hadn’t recognised him. Maybe he’d forgotten him completely, erased Zayn from his mind like any other insignificant facet of his life. It was gutting. Absolutely gutting.

“Listen, there’s no fucking way you can be as thick as you’re pretending to be. I don’t know what you’re playing at, mate, but I suggest you….”

Liam’s bedroom door opened and Liam, wearing a red jumper now, shuffled into the room. His face erupted into a child-like grin the moment his eyes fell on Louis. “Hullo,” he said shyly as Louis rose to his feet. “See you’ve met Zayn.”

“Zayn?” Louis twisted around to get a proper look at the boy who had let him in. Suddenly, it all made sense. The face was thinner than he remembered and much more angular. His black hair was longer, his shoulders broader, and his voice deeper. Even so, Louis should have remembered those eyes--those expressive amber eyes which had haunted his conscience on more than one occasion.

Zayn swallowed the lump in his throat. “Um, yeah?”

“Well, how’ve you been, Malik?” Louis asked smoothly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Zayn was gobsmacked. He wondered how Louis could pretend nothing had happened, how he could ignore the history between them like a whistling kettle left boiling on the stove.

“How have I been?” Zayn echoed dumbly.

Liam tittered nervously. “Did I miss something?”

“We know each other,” Louis flippantly informed his date. “Me and Zayn, we were at school together. Innit that right, Malik?”

Zayn could feel his eyelid uncontrollably twitching. “Um…yeah, that’s right.” It wasn’t a lie--what Louis had said--but it felt like one. It felt as if Louis had just uttered a right whopper.

“Well, Bob’s your uncle!” Liam exclaimed, shaking his head in amazement. “That’s bloody brilliant!”

“You could say that,” Louis grunted. “Well, we best be off then, Payno. I bought tickets for that new Marvel film you kept going on about the other day.”

“Of course,” Liam agreed, blushing ever-so-slightly. “See you later, Zayn.”

“Uh-huh,” Zayn said blankly.

Liam examined his flatmate closely. “You alright? You look poorly.”

“Yeah, ‘m fine.” Zayn could feel Louis’ eyes on him (as well as Liam’s), and he wanted to sink through the floor.

“Okay,” Liam said unsurely, “if you say so….”

“Cheers,” Zayn mumbled before staggering into the safety of his room. A minute later, he heard the front door lock, and he let out the breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding. Zayn tried not to dwell too much on the fact that Liam had promised him they’d see that film together--just him and Zayn. And really, it was bloody pointless to think about how much Louis’ new hairstyle suited him or how well-defined his jawline was now.

The next day, Zayn didn’t want to go to school. In fact, he didn’t even want to get out of fucking bed.

Eventually, it got easier--well, not _easier_ , exactly. After all, he now had to deal with seeing Louis on a semi-regular basis since his former friend was now dating his current flatmate. He was, however, better able to tolerate the whole unfortunate turn of events thanks to his GP upping his anxiety meds.

Of course, it still wasn’t fun watching those two carrying on as if they were best mates, as if they were having the time of their lives without him. Sometimes, he thought that Louis especially was trying to rub it in his face, remind him that Zayn was and would forever be nothing to him. And if that were Louis’ intent, Zayn had to admit the lad was doing a proper job of it.

Thank God for Harry. Harry was almost as good a listener as he was a baker--well, according to Harry anyways. The dude would puff out like a peacock describing a wheat flour green tea and acai scone he’d made or the dairy-free clotted cream he’d whipped up to go with it. Niall, Harry’s boyfriend, had assured Zayn that Harry’s baked goods weren’t nearly as bad as they sounded. Niall had even asserted that Harry’s pasties were “out of this world,” but Zayn wasn’t really the adventurous type. Besides, it was never wise to trust an Irishman when it came to food.    

Zayn appreciated having Harry as a sounding board more than ever now because his only other close confidante was Liam and Zayn obviously couldn’t talk to _him_ about the whole Louis situation. Not by a longshot. Of course, most days he didn’t want to talk about Louis at all. And, of course, those were the days Harry would infallibly bring the subject up.

“So,” Harry began on one such day in the middle of their pottery class, “have you told Liam you fancy his boyfriend yet?”

Zayn grimaced and shrunk into his chair. “I told you,” he said petulantly, scanning the classroom for possible eavesdroppers. “I don’t fancy him. It’s just…awkward as fuck, that’s all.”

“Sure, mate,” Harry scoffed.

“Don’t be like that, Haz.”

“Like what?”

“Haz....”

“Sorry, mate,” Harry acknowledged, chuckling as he swept a loose curl away from his cherub-like face. He left a smudge of clay on his forehead as he did so. “You really should talk to him, though.”

“What and betray Liam?” Zayn baulked. “I don’t think so, Haz. I wouldn’t do that even if I _did_ fancy Louis--which I don’t. That’d be a total dick move.”

“Talk to Liam first, then. Jesus, Zayn. It’s not like I was telling you to go have it off with this Tomlinson guy. You two just ought to clear the air, that’s all.” Harry shrugged his shoulders and continued working on his piece. “But honestly, the way Liam’s been eying that one brunette bird in our afternoon lecture, I doubt you have much to be bothered about.”

“I don’t fancy Louis, Haz.”

“’Course you don’t,” Harry replied with an impish grin, tweaking Zayn’s nose like the annoying twat he was.

Zayn rolled his eyes and refocused his attention on the mess of a pot in front of him. If Harry knew the whole story, if he knew how Louis had made him feel five years ago, he wouldn’t be half so eager to get Zayn to confess his feelings to Louis bloody Tomlinson.

Suddenly, Zayn became aware of a pair of eyes staring at them from across the room. “I think that girl overheard us,” he whispered to the boy next to him. “Fuck, Haz. Why you gotta be so damn loud?”

“Niall seems to like that quality about me,” he joked, winking at the ginger-haired beauty.

Zayn’s watched the girl blush and turn back around. “Does he also like how you flirt with every bloody thing that moves, bro?”

“I was helping you out,” Harry clucked. “That ginger has been staring at you for ages which you would have noticed if you weren’t preoccupied by a certain blue-eyed boy.”

“They’re not really blue,” Zayn corrected absent-mindedly, biting his lower lip as he endeavoured to re-sculpt his pot. “They’re more like the colour of the Pacific Ocean, I’d say.”

“Bloody hell, it’s worse than I thought.”

“Shut your gob, Haz, or I’m gonna tell Niall that you’re flirting with random girls in our pottery class.”

“Please do,” Harry grunted. “Someone needs to light a fire under that Irishman. We’ve been dating since 1987, you know.”

“Have you now?”

“Yes,” Harry smirked. “We’ve been together for about as long as you’ve fancied a certain Louis Tomlinson.”

“Can we talk about something else?” Zayn grumbled.

“Fine. What colour are you gonna choose for your glaze?”

“I was thinking blue-green,” Zayn answered, inspecting his work in progress. “I don’t know, though. What do you think?”

Harry met Zayn’s questioning gaze and cleared his throat. “I think you should talk to Liam as soon as possible, mate.”

 

*****

 

It was half term when they celebrated Harry and Niall’s recent engagement. Since Louis was busy overseeing last-minute details, Liam and Zayn shared a cab to the restaurant together. During the drive, Liam kept repeating how he thought the couple were too young and too immature to get engaged. He insisted that it didn’t matter that they’d been together since sixth form when Niall had moved to London from Mullingar. Marriage was a big step; it shouldn’t be taken lightly.

Zayn gazed out the window, captivated by the passing scenery as they headed out of the city. The streetlamps seemed to paint luminescent streaks against the dark canvas of the night, and he wished he had brought along his sketchpad. He remained quiet (as he usually did whenever Liam went off on one of his tangents). He knew Harry and Niall were planning a long engagement, and besides, you only had to spend about ten minutes with the pair to know they were meant for each other. He also knew that Liam would be one of the couple’s biggest supporters once he got every conceivable objection out of his system.

Honestly, he was more concerned about having to be in a room with Louis for the night. The entire fucking night.

They’d never had that talk, the one Harry had pushed him to go through with. Indeed, Louis and him hadn’t had any sort of conversation whatsoever besides the general: “Have you heard they’re opening up a new rave in Croydon?” or “Weather’s been hot as fuck lately, hasn’t it?”

Liam cleared his throat, bringing Zayn back to reality. “Promise you’ll be nice to Louis, yeah?” The sensible one seemed like he was choosing his words even more carefully than normal. “I get the feeling you two don’t like each other.”

Zayn looked down at his hands guiltily. He really shouldn’t have been surprised that Liam had noticed the awkwardness between Louis and himself.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Liam continued. “Did you two have a falling out or…?”

“Nah, it’s nothing,” Zayn gulped, tying to act as if he wasn’t bothered by his least favourite topic of conversation.

“Zayn, I really doubt--”

“We had a slight misunderstanding, that’s all,” he grudgingly admitted.

Liam gave a weary sigh. “Yeah, that’s what Lou said as well.”

“He talks about me?”

“No, but that’s what he said after I’d been pestering him about what went down between you two. He called it a ‘misunderstanding’ as well.” Liam shook his head and looked pointedly at his companion. “All I can say is that it must have been one hell of a misunderstanding because he NEVER mentions you… _ever_. It’s bizarre.”

“Oh,” Zayn managed, trying not to look as crestfallen as he felt. He knew he shouldn’t be feeling this way--not about his mate’s boyfriend and certainly not about the bloke who had made him feel two inches small all those years ago.

“Alright,” Liam went on, “just the other day, we were out to dinner with Harry and Niall, and Harry had asked him what you were like in school.”

Zayn could feel the heat rushing to his cheeks. He couldn’t believe Harry, knowing everything he knew, could be so careless. “Why the fuck would Haz ask Louis that?”

Liam gave Zayn a funny look. “Harry didn’t mean anything by it, mate. He was just asking if you were artsy back then or whatever. Don’t get your knickers in a twist. Anyway, Louis clammed up like he was on trial or something. I don’t think he even gave a proper response. Even Niall noticed it, and you know he’s usually oblivious to shite like that.”

“Yeah, there’s…uh…some bad blood between us. We didn’t really get on in school.”

“Oh, well, that explains it then. Really, you should have just said that to begin with,” Liam scolded. “Well, whatever happened, it’s all in the past. I don’t think I even want to know what went down, to be honest, the way you two act around each other.”

Zayn nodded vehemently. He was quite certain truer words were never spoken.

 

*****

 

The engagement party was unfolding exactly how Zayn expected it to unfold.

It was bloody awful.

The uncomfortable air at dinner was only made worse by the curious looks he kept getting from Harry. These looks occurred like clockwork every time Louis would abruptly change the subject after Zayn’s name came up. For some reason, Liam seemed bent on making sure his flatmate was involved in the conversation despite Louis’ blatant tactics. Towards the end of dinner, Liam went into overdrive. He gushed about how Zayn prepared the best butter chicken he’d ever tasted the other night and how one of Zayn’s paintings was going to be auctioned off for a hospital charity drive.

“That’s ace!” Harry beamed, slapping Zayn on the back so hard he nearly choked on the olive he’d just eaten. “Why didn’t you tell me, man? Is it gonna be displayed in a gallery or--”

“So, do you usually cook for Liam?” Louis interrupted, scowling into his empty wineglass. “I didn’t realise the two of you were quite so… _domestic_.”

“I didn’t either,” Niall piped up. Oddly, he looked nearly as annoyed as Louis and that was saying a lot.

Liam, ignoring everyone, continued: “It’s massive--the painting, I mean. It’s an abstract, so Zayn’s gonna have to tell you more about it.”

“What’s it called?” the girl next to him asked. Zayn couldn’t remember her name now.

“Ocean Eyes,” Liam supplied, looking right chuffed that he remembered. Zayn snuck a glance at Harry, and the look on his face said it all.

And, perhaps, a little more.

“I need a drink,” Zayn announced, standing up so quickly he nearly knocked his chair over. All eyes immediately fell on the half empty glass in front of him. No one said a word. “And some air,” he added quickly, answering the unspoken comments. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

He headed straight for the lounge bar. A few minutes later, he had removed the two pills he secreted in his wallet and was about to wash them down with a gin and tonic when someone slapped his hand. He glumly watched the salmon-coloured lozenges tap dance across the bar before cascading off the other side. He didn’t even need to look up to see who had done the egregious act. He already knew.

“What’d you do that for, Haz?” Zayn mumbled into his drink. “They’re prescription, y’know.”

“I know what they are, Zayn,” Harry scolded gently, sliding onto the stool beside him, “and I also know you’re not supposed to take them with alcohol.” Harry held out his hand like Zayn’s mum would have done when he’d brought something home he shouldn’t have, like when Louis gave him that pack of half-smoked fags and his mum saw it peeking out from his trouser pocket. As Zayn lifted his gaze, he saw Harry even had the same frown of disapproval. He wished Harry would bugger off almost as much as he wished he could go a day without the littlest thing reminding him of Louis Tomlinson. Unfortunately, Harry remained and so did his muddled-up mess of meaningless memories.

“Why aren’t you back at the table celebrating, Haz? You’ve got guests and all.”

“Figured I’d check on you,” he confessed, ordering a pint and settling in. “Congrats on your artwork being selected and all, by the way.”

“It’s got nothing to do with Louis,” Zayn said abruptly.

“Which? That painting or your running off from the table with a piss-poor excuse?”

“Both.”

Harry grunted. “You’re a shit liar.”

“It’s a self-portrait.”

“Hate to rain on your parade, mate, but Liam said it was titled ‘Ocean Eyes.’ Last I checked, you’ve got brown eyes.”

“They’re hazel, actually.”

“Fine,” Harry granted with an exasperated sigh. “Whatever shade they are, they ain’t ocean-coloured.”

“Pollution’s a real problem in case you haven’t noticed, Haz.”

“Mind if I see it, then? This water pollution painting of yours?”

Zayn shrugged. “The exhibit doesn’t start for like another two months, but do what you want then. It’s a free country.”

Harry didn’t answer for a while, just sat quietly next to him drinking his pint. “Apparently, you’re not ready to talk about this yet.”

“There’s nothing to discuss.”

“Well, I’m still going to talk to Louis.” Harry stood up with a decisive air that made Zayn want to scramble over the bar to search for those two gone-but-not-forgotten pills.

“What the fuck, Haz! I thought you were my--”

“Jesus, Zayn!” Harry threw up his hands in frustration. “I’m just going to tell him to stop being such an ass to you!”

“Please don’t,” Zayn moaned. “Please don’t say anything to Louis. It’ll just make it worse.”

“It’s a free country,” he shot back before grasping Zayn’s shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry. I won’t say more than I should. He just needs to learn that he can’t act like that, like a right bastard to you. I’m not going to just stand by and let him treat you like that. Sorry, mate.” Harry walked off, leaving Zayn alone again at the bar. With an internal howl, Zayn collapsed his head into his hands.

“So, how long has _this_ been going on?” an Irish accent demanded.

Zayn blinked and warily looked at Niall. He didn’t seem as happy and carefree as he should be, what with this being his engagement party and all. “Where’s your fiancé?”

“Fuck off, mate,” Niall retorted. “I asked you a question; I expect an answer.”

“There’s nothing between Haz and me. We’re just good mates, that’s all,” he said with as much patience as he could muster. His tolerance for jealous Irishmen was unusually low today.

“Don’t be a fecking idjet,” Niall snapped back at him. “Harry’s a flirt, but he’s _my_ flirt.”

“I’m not sure what you’re going on about, then.”

“Listen, I’m not here to preach to ya. I’m just saying you better watch yourself,” he advised, his tone softening a notch. “I know you can’t help how you feel, but you can help whether you act on it.”

“What d’you mean?”

“I mean you should reconsider sharing a flat with Liam, for starters.”

Zayn cursed Harry and his big mouth. He also cursed himself for divulging any of his feelings to Harry. He should have figured out that admitting your feelings just got you into a whole heap of trouble by now. Zayn took another sip and set it down gingerly on the bar. “Why do you care so much?”

“Louis’ a solid lad, and well, I don’t want you to get Harry involved in this cock up.”

Zayn rolled his eyes. “Believe me. I won’t be telling Haz a damn thing after he spilt everything to you.”

“Harry’s hasn’t said a word; you should have more faith in him.” Niall rubbed the stubble on his chin. “I could read everything from Louis’ face.”

Zayn felt completely defeated. It would almost have been better if Harry had told Niall. Now, he wondered how many other people had picked up on his dark secret.

“So, tell me,” Niall pressed, “how long has this been going on?”

Zayn stared back down into his drink. The liquid quavered and spiralled, pulling him into the past like a ship caught in a whirlpool. He took a deep breath and steadied himself. “I dunno…about seven or eight years, I guess. He’s the only person I’ve ever felt something about. He’s the only one, as fucked up as that sounds.” He swallowed and looked up at Niall. Zayn wasn’t sure exactly how he expected Niall to react to his admission, but he certainly hadn’t been expecting a look of pure bewilderment.

“But I…I thought….” Niall’s voice trailed off as he scratched his head. His blue eyes flickered with confusion.

“Yeah?” Zayn prompted.

“You guys have only been flatmates for about a year. I don’t understand how….”

“Fuck,” Zayn muttered. He lay his head on the bar again and groaned loudly. He could hear Niall jabbering in his ear, apologising, explaining himself, defending his original suspicions--not that Zayn cared, of course. No, Zayn was too far gone for that. His head was spinning from the drinks, and he now wished he hadn’t downed that last one in such a hasty manner.

Blindly, Zayn tumbled off the barstool and walked away from Niall, walked away from the secret he’d just upped and revealed for no reason whatsoever. He needed air, but for real this time. A short time later, he found himself outside in a dilapidated back garden, of sorts. A gentle breeze and the noise of the passing traffic distracted him from the queasiness caused by the drinks and, well, everything else.

He was alone. _Finally._

Zayn rested his shoulder against the rough brick of the building and closed his tired eyes. If he shut them tight enough, he was almost certain he could block out the past…and maybe even the present, too.   The wind picked up, and he shivered despite his leather jacket and the alcohol warming his body.

“Now then, you alright, Malik?” The thin sharpness of it bit at him like the wind. It tore at him along with the regrets and self-doubt currently ravaging his cool, collected façade.

Zayn missed hearing that voice. To be precise, he missed hearing it like _this_ \--so intimate, like it was just him and Louis again, just like it was supposed to be.

Before he fucked everything up five years ago, that is.

Then, as if things could get any worse, he vomited, emptying the entire contents of his stomach on the pavement in front of him.

“So you finished chucking your guts up, mate or…?”

Zayn wiped his mouth with his shirt cuff. He was afraid to turn around, too embarrassed to confront Louis at the present moment. And so, with one swift call-to-action, he turned on his heel, stumbled past Louis and back into the restaurant.

And he didn’t look back once.

 

*****

 

Later that evening, after he had showered, brushed his teeth twice, drank a full pot of the chamomile and hibiscus tea Harry had given him, and watched Guardians of the Galaxy for the third time, he heard a noise outside the door to the flat. He knew it was Liam returning home from the engagement party, so he didn’t think much of it. Liam and Harry had helped him into a cab when he turned up at the table after his brief encounter with Louis. He must have looked like he felt because Harry immediately latched on to his jacket and started dragging Zayn towards the front door while Liam followed behind. It took a while to convince Liam not to accompany him back to their shared flat, but eventually Zayn succeeded. After all, he really wasn’t as pissed as he appeared to be. He was just…exhausted.

Despite the second wind he’d gotten after showering, he was dozing off when he heard the continued scratching of a key against the lock. Yawning, he rose from the sofa and was about to unlock the front door when he froze in his tracks.

“Stop, Louis,” Liam complained from the hallway. “You’re pissed, and I’m knackered. This is no time for--“

Zayn heard the familiar sound of the lock catching and practically catapulted into his room, easing his bedroom door closed just in time.

“Aw, c’mon then, babe,” Louis whinged loudly. “I’ll let you top, if you want. I know how much you love that.”

“No,” Liam said emphatically. “If you want to stay fine, but you need to sleep on the sofa. I’ve an exam tomorrow morning, and I’m not going to have you muck it up because you’re horny as fuck.”

“But _baaabe_ \--”

“Why are you acting like this, Louis? Why’d you have to get sauced in front of our mates and embarrass the shit out of me, huh?”

“I wasn’t the only one in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Shut your pie hole; he’ll hear you.” They both went silent for a moment, and Zayn held his breath, staying as still as humanly possible.

Then, Liam continued, lowering his voice so that Zayn could only catch certain words and phrases: “You know…anxiety…suffers from panic attacks…tonight actually…that’s what Harry thinks, anyways.” Zayn pressed his ear to the door.

“He gets panic attacks?”

“He didn’t have them back when you went to school together?” Liam asked, forgetting to whisper. “I thought he’d been getting them for ages….” Zayn hated that they were discussing him. It was none of Louis’ damn business, so he almost rejoiced when Liam changed the subject. “Anyway, I meant what I said about you sleeping on the sofa, Louis.”

“Sorry, babe, I was just trying to forget, you know, and have a good time and all that.”

“Forget what?”

“Nothing,” Louis mumbled, “’s not important.”

Liam’s voice rose again. “See, that’s what I was talking about earlier when I said….”

Zayn crawled into bed, grabbing a pillow to shut out the unwanted snippets of conversation. This was one exchange he had zero interest in overhearing. He wasn’t stupid; he knew there was a bloody good chance that this “argument” could end with the two of them fucking their aggressions out. Usually, Liam and Louis carried out their business at Liam’s flat. Apparently, Louis was too smashed to make it back to his own flat, however, so he was crashing at theirs.

Thankfully, Zayn’s exhaustion overruled all else, and he soon fell into a fitful slumber. Some time later, Zayn became aware of a physical presence beside him. In the twilight between dreaming and consciousness, he doubted the presence was real…until he felt a hand petting his head.

“You’re so pretty, Malik,” Louis slurred, regret staining his voice. “Why do you have to be so Goddamn pretty?”

“W-what the fuck, Louis?” Zayn shot up in bed and stared down at the body lying next to him. His heart was racing and he felt on the verge of another attack. Louis, however, coaxed him back down and continued to stroke his hair in a maternal way. It felt good, the fingers brushing across his temples and tangling in the longer strands on top. Zayn’s eyelashes fluttered as his body relaxed into the bed.

“I’m sorry, Malik,” Louis choked out after another minute. “I’m bloody sorry for everything.”

A shiver ran through Zayn’s body. Those were the words he’d longed to hear for so many years. But even so, he warned his heart that this was just the alcohol talking right now. Everything would go back to normal in the morning, and the only remorse Louis would feel would be in regards to the apology he didn’t mean. He’d retract his words, just as he’d done five years ago.

“No, Louis,” Zayn said firmly, “You’re not sorry; you’re pissed.”

“Maybe I’m both, eh?”

Zayn didn’t know how to respond to that, so he said nothing. He tried not to dwell on how much a genuine apology would mean to him just as he tried not to dwell on the warmth of Louis’ body as he lay beside him.

“Hey, Malik…remember that time we broke into the old church?” Louis chuckled to himself and Zayn didn’t need to see the other boy’s eyes to know that they had that naughty sparkle in them, the one that made Zayn do things he shouldn’t, the one he’d tried so hard to capture in his most recent painting.

“’Course I remember,” Zayn answered softly.

“It was Guy Fawkes Day, wasn’t it?” Louis continued, scooting closer to Zayn on the bed so that they were now laying side by side. “We’d just come from the bonfire. You mentioned how sick it would be to see all the bonfires from the bell tower, and I suggested we check it out.” Louis laughed suddenly and the laughter shook the bed. “You were so skittish about the whole thing. You kept going on about how it was ‘bad jujus’ or some shit to break into an old church and how we were gonna get caught.”

“We _did_ get caught, Louis.”

“Well, yes, if you want to be all technical and shit, but we didn’t get nabbed until we were leaving,” he admonished, poking Zayn in the flesh of his arm. “We made it to the top of that tower, and it felt like we’d scaled Mount bloody Everest or summat, d’you know what I mean?”

Zayn gave a small nod even though Louis probably couldn’t see him in the darkness. He felt like he was eleven again, willing to follow Louis without question like a general into battle--and why the fuck not? Louis made life more exciting, as if there was an adventure around every corner.  

“What a Goddamn high!” Louis marvelled. “There was the purple sunset, the city lights in the distance, the smell of bonfires blazing…it was worth all of it and more, don’t you think?”

Zayn considered this a long time. “Yes, Louis,” he acknowledged at last, recalling that feeling of freedom again. “It was worth it. It really fucking was.” It had always felt like that with Louis, like they both shared a beautiful secret the rest of the world would never understand. It felt like that now.

“I’ve missed you, Malik,” Louis confessed out of nowhere, sounding more vulnerable than Zayn had ever heard him sound before. “You were my best mate. We shared everything. What happened to us?”

“I did something daft, and you…you rejected me, Lou,” Zayn reminded him, his voice cracking.

“You did fucking naught, mate. It was me. I was a coward…and a bully, too. I was afraid of how I felt about you. I was afraid of what our friends would say, what me dad would say, what he _did_ say when I told him a couple of years later….” Louis let out a shuddering breath.

“When you came out to your family, you mean? It’s better now, though, right?”

“I haven’t spoken to me dad in three years,” Louis confessed, “but that’s life--innit, Malik?”

“I’m…I’m sorry, Louis.”

“Don’t be. I don’t deserve it.” He removed something from his pocket and unscrewed a cap. “Fuck, that burns,” he muttered after taking a swig of the contents. He set the flask on the nightstand beside him. “I sure as hell don’t deserve a shred of sympathy from you, Malik. Harry was right earlier, I’ve acted like a proper asshole to you.”

“Louis--”

“No, let me talk,” Louis insisted. “I tried to pretend that I didn’t give two fucks about you even though I couldn’t stop thinking about you, wondering what you were doing. I told myself you hated me. _I_ would’ve hated me after what happened all those years ago.” Louis paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. “But then I spoke with Harry….”

Zayn waited for Louis to continue, but finally he could take it no longer. “What did he say?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, he didn’t say much beyond what I already told you. It was more of what he _didn’t_ say.”

“Like?”

“Like you were hurt by how I was acting,” Louis revealed reluctantly. “Like you didn’t hate me after all. Like you maybe even felt something towards me….”

“Why didn’t you just come talk to me about it? Oh, right,” Zayn added, thinking back to when Louis had followed him out of the restaurant and he’d been sick in front of him. “You did.”

“Yeah, I guess I disgusted you more than I thought, Malik,” he quipped sadly. “Anyway, I tried to drown my thoughts with alcohol. Almost worked, too.”

“Almost?”

Louis sighed heavily. “Yeah, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And you were so close…I couldn’t resist coming in here,” Louis slurred. “I just wanted to see you sleeping, just for a minute. You always looked so pretty when you were asleep.”

Zayn felt a hand on his arm, and a feeling of warmth radiated throughout his body. He tried his best to ignore it. He licked his lips, tried to focus on anything but the boy next to him.

“Stop asking so many Goddamn questions, Malik. Besides, you never answered me when I told you I missed ya.” Louis’ hand wandered from his arm to his bare chest. Zayn sucked his breath in and lay perfectly still. When Louis’ cool fingertips began making spider-like movements down his abdomen, he found his voice:

“What are you doing, Louis?”

As if responding to his question, Louis’ handed landed on Zayn’s crotch, making him gasp. “Ah, it appears _someone_ is very much awake,” Louis murmured.

“You’d better go back to the living room,” Zayn croaked, pushing Louis’ hand away.

“Why?” Louis challenged, and he tightened his grip on Zayn’s manhood. It felt as if Louis were baiting him now.

Zayn felt dizzy. His entire body was tingling. “Louis, stop.”

“You want me to stop, Malik?”

 _No,_ Zayn wanted to scream, but then he thought of Liam. “In case you’ve forgotten, your boyfriend’s in the next room.”

“Then I suggest we keep as quiet as possible,” Louis hissed into his ear. Before Zayn could react, Louis’ body was pressed against his own. He felt Louis grind into him, their clothed erections rubbing against each other sinfully. Zayn groaned in spite of himself, releasing years of pent-up frustration. This was what he had wanted for so long. It was fucked up, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted Louis despite everything.

Involuntarily, his hips rutted up against the boy now on top of him. When Louis leaned in for a drunken kiss, Zayn didn’t even hesitate. Louis tasted like a mix of menthol cigarettes and black currant liqueur, and he couldn’t get enough of it.

Louis pulled away from the kiss and started nuzzling his neck. Zayn felt himself losing all control. He wanted more. He _needed_ more. But then a foreign scent wafted to Zayn’s nostrils--not _completely_ foreign however. Even in the lust-filled haze, his brain quickly registered it as aftershave.

 _Liam’s_ aftershave.

“Fuck,” he muttered, instantly rolling out of bed. He paced back and forth, a string of curses falling from his bruised lips. Zayn’s head was still in a fog, but one thing was damn clear: once again, they’d gone too far. “Don’t even fucking think about following me, mate,” he warned a bewildered Louis before stalking out of the room. The only question on his mind as he settled into the made-up sofa was whether he should be more ashamed of Louis or himself right now.

 

*****

 

“Why are you sleeping on the sofa, Zayn?”

No sooner had his flatmate spoken these words than the memory of last night’s events came back to him in a rush. He hadn’t even fully opened his eyes yet, but he could recall every last detail of what happened between Louis and him last night. Zayn wondered whether he looked as guilty as he felt.

“Oh, I can answer that!” Louis chimed in from the kitchen. He was looking oddly fresh and rested despite his night out and the aftermath. “Zayn came out of his room for a wee, and I was going on about how much me back was killing me. He agreed to swap places just to get me to shut my gob, I’m sure. Innit that right, Malik?” Louis asked nonchalantly as he stirred his tea. He set the spoon on the counter and looked over at them, yawning loudly.

“Uh…yes,” Zayn mumbled. He could feel his eyelid twitching, betraying him like it usually did, and he covered it with his palm before Liam noticed. “Yeah, what Louis said.” Zayn felt awful lying to Liam, but then again, there wasn’t much point in needlessly upsetting him. Louis had been smashed and Zayn had been stupid. He had let his childhood crush on Louis get the best of him. He wasn’t going to let it happen again.

Besides, the point was rather moot. In all likelihood, Louis was going to go back to hating him, and that would be that.

Liam shook his head and chuckled. Then, he made his way to the kitchen to fetch the dripping spoon Louis had left there before he’d sat down at the kitchen table. Liam turned on the tap and rinsed the utensil off before wiping the counter down. It reminded him of a mum tidying up after her son. Louis didn’t seem to notice.

Liam looked at Zayn apologetically. “Sorry you had to be put out by this drama queen over here.”

“Nah, it was fine.” Zayn cleared his throat and dropped his gaze. He felt like a backstabbing bastard. They weren’t just flatmates--Liam and him. They were close mates--even if Zayn had momentarily forgotten that last night when he was snogging Liam’s boyfriend.

“Well, I’m off!” Liam chirped, packing up his laptop and a few books. “Babe, you want to come with?” he offered. “Your tube stop’s on the way.”

Zayn held his breath as he waited for Louis’ response on pins and needles. The idea of being alone with Louis in the flat after what happened last night almost did his head in.

“Yeah, that’d be ace,” Louis replied. “Let me drink my tea first, yeah?”

“Okay, babe, but hurry up. I’ve got shit to do, and I’m not going to have you make me late to my lecture…again.”

Zayn watched as Louis downed the tea as if he were knocking back a shot. It had to be hot still despite the litre of milk he added. Liam, however, appeared less than impressed when his boyfriend slammed the mug down loudly and a bit of the remaining tea sloshed onto the table top.

After doing so, Louis sauntered over towards Zayn, collecting his wallet and a few personal items he’d left on the coffee table. He looked down at Zayn, glanced back at Liam who was mopping up the spilt tea, then back at Zayn again. “Uh, see you around, Malik, and just so you know….” Louis snuck another peek at Liam who was still within earshot. “I meant what I said…about being sorry and all.”

“Don’t believe him, Zayn,” Liam advised with a wink. “He probably got off on putting you out of your room last night. C’mon, Louis, let’s leave. Tube’s busy as fuck on Monday mornings.”

His back to his boyfriend still, Louis looked imploringly at Zayn. All his bravado was gone and last night’s vulnerability had returned in full force.

Zayn stood up, patted Louis on the back, and whispered in his ear: “Go to hell, Louis.” Waving a quick goodbye to Liam, he marched away to reclaim his bedroom.

But, as usual, Louis got the last word…figuratively anyway. Because when Zayn lay down on his bed, all he could smell was Louis. Frustrated, he threw his sheets and duvet off the bed and dumped them in the corner of his wardrobe. He sat back on the mattress and waited for Liam and Louis to leave. When they did, he went back out to his sofa in the living room where he could take a short kip and not have to be bothered about his room smelling like Louis Tomlinson.

Unfortunately, when Zayn closed his eyes, he could still see Louis’ penitent face as he apologised. He could see those blue-green eyes pleading with him, asking for the forgiveness he didn’t deserve.

Eventually, he ditched the idea of sleeping and made a pot of coffee instead.

 

*****

 

“What do you mean you may have snogged him?!” Harry bellowed, causing half the students in their drawing class to turn around. Zayn was quite certain he’d never been more mortified in his life. He was also quite certain the curly-haired idiot beside him was going to make him develop an ulcer--if he didn’t have one already, that is.

Zayn shushed him, then waited for the class to lose interest. “Bloody hell, don’t act so surprised, Haz. After all, you were the one who told me I should sort things out with Louis. I did.”

Harry snorted. “Yeah, but I didn’t mean you should be getting off with him while Liam was sleeping in the next room, just saying.”

“Don’t fucking remind me,” Zayn groaned. It was all he’d been thinking about since that night, but he didn’t need Harry to rub it in. “Believe me, I feel awful enough as it is.”

“Well, you should.”

“Cheers, mate,” Zayn grunted. “I hope I remember not to ring you if I ever need someone to talk me off a ledge.”

“So what exactly happened after the party and before you guys started your snogging session?”

“I told you,” Zayn sighed, massaging his temples. It had been a rough few days. “Louis woke me up in the middle of the bloody night and started blubbering about when we were kids and all that. He apologised--for something in the past--and then--”

“What’d he do?” Harry interrupted, his eyes narrowing.

“Doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago.”

“Zayn, it’s near impossible for me to give you advice if I’m bloody clueless as to why--”

“Fine,” Zayn snapped. “We were best mates when we were kids actually. One day, Louis discovered I was attracted to him, you see, because I’d gotten a stiffy after seeing him with his top off--”

“No fucking way,” Harry blurted out.

“Let me finish, yeah? Anyway, we messed around, and it went too far. The shit really hit the fan after that--for both of us in different ways, I guess.”

“Thought it was something like that,” Harry mused quietly. “Bet he was a real asshole about it afterwards.”

“You could say that…but I get it now.” Zayn stopped there because he felt like he didn’t have a right to say more. Louis was a private person and his family life was his own business.

“So what happened the other night?”

“Louis came in to apologise and then….” Zayn rubbed his temples again. His head was throbbing the more he thought about that night.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Let me guess--it went too far?”

“Basically,” he admitted, biting his lip.

Harry shook his head. “You need to have a chinwag with Liam, mate.”

“I don’t want to upset him over nothing, Haz,” Zayn explained. “I’m not going to let anything like that happen again, yeah? I won’t even bloody look at Louis, okay? I had a weak moment, that’s all.”

“You don’t think Liam deserves to know what Louis did?”

“I don’t know…he was pissed, Haz.”

“That’s no excuse, mate. Besides, it wasn’t even like he was the one who stopped it. _You_ bloody did! Just promise me you’ll talk to him, alright?”

Zayn swallowed. “Yeah, I promise.”

And that was that.

As it turned out, however, the promise never needed to be fulfilled. Less than a week later, Louis had broken up with Liam, claiming that they were just too different to make things work. Liam took the news pretty hard for the first few days, knocking back tubs of Chocolate Fudge Brownie like the flavour was about be axed by Messieurs Ben and Jerry. But, sooner than expected, Liam seemed to bounce back to his normal cheerful self. He admitted that he knew something had been off between them for some time now, that they had never clicked as much as Liam had wanted them to.

So it really shouldn’t have been shocking when Liam brought home a pretty brunette about a month after the break up. Harry had informed him that the girl was indeed the one who’d been flirting with Liam for months now. And from what Zayn could tell, Liam didn’t seem to mind the attention one bit.

Since Liam and Louis were no longer together, Zayn subsequently saw very little of Louis. Indeed, the only times he’d run across his former crush were when he’d seen him in passing with Niall. Louis and Niall had remained close, but it was clear Louis was doing his best not to make things more awkward among the group of friends than absolutely necessary. He avoided Liam (and Zayn) at all costs.

All that changed, however, on a bitterly cold day in December.

Liam, Harry, and Niall were in a cab on their way to the opening of the exhibition that was to feature Zayn’s painting. Zayn was glad his mates had rode along with him since he felt tremendous apprehension at the thought of seeing _that_ painting, the one he’d churned out directly after seeing Louis again. He’d put all his pain into it--angst practically dripped off the canvas--and he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to face the damn thing again.

But all his fears were laid to rest when he saw it hanging in the gallery. It looked as flawless as the boy who inspired it. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever created--even Harry said so. Liam bragged about it as well, telling everyone who came up to view the piece that he knew the artist personally.

Zayn stood back a few feet back from the crowd, taking it all in. This was the proudest day of his life. It really was.

He was so overcome with emotion, he didn’t even notice a person standing beside him until he spoke: “It’s fucking sick, mate--sickest thing I ever saw.”

Zayn felt a familiar warmth come over him despite the coldness of the day. He tried not to let on how much the compliment meant to him.

“But then again,” his companion mused, “you _were_ always a talented fucker.”

“Well,” Zayn replied, still staring straight ahead at his work, “the subject matter really stimulated my creative juices.”

“I don’t mean to be funny, but the artist really stimulates my, er, juices as well.”

Zayn couldn’t help but laugh at that. He turned to face the boy standing beside him, the boy with the ocean eyes. He was the same old Louis, yet different somehow. In the couple of months that had transpired since the engagement party, something about Louis had changed--he seemed more mature, more at peace with himself and the world.

“I’ve missed you, Malik,” Louis said softly, his eyes shining. “I know I’ve told you that before, but I want you to know that I mean it--not that I didn’t mean it before and all because I did. I just…mean it more now.” Louis looked troubled, a ball of nerves, as he shifted his weight from leg to leg. Ironically, it was the least anxious Zayn had felt in years.

“I’ve missed you, too, Louis.” The words had no sooner left Zayn’s mouth than the other boy beamed, and the smile, as usual, was infectious.

Liam cleared his throat. “Louis, what are you doing here?”

Zayn swivelled around to find Liam standing behind him with a puzzled expression. Before he could answer, Harry butted in:

“Time to go, Liam!” he declared loudly, clapping his hands together decisively. “Here, let’s go find where Niall went off to. I bet you the cab fare home that he’s found where they’re hiding the grub.”

“I’d be daft to accept that bet,” Liam scoffed. “But listen, we can’t just leave Zayn with Louis! Wouldn’t be right. Are you out of your bloody mind?” Harry sighed, then wheeled him towards the next room, silencing Liam’s protests all the way. When Liam finally left in search of Niall, Harry trotted back to where Zayn was standing.  

“Call me if you need anything, okay?” Harry looked at him pointedly and Zayn nodded. “And you,” Harry turned to Louis and wagged his finger at him, “don’t fuck this up.” He then winked at Zayn and scurried off in the same direction as Liam.

“Fancy a cappuccino or something?” Louis offered once the dust had cleared.

“Thought you’d never ask,” Zayn returned smoothly, slipping his hand into the other boy’s.

In the quiet corner of a café down the road, they had a long talk. It was the talk they needed to have, the talk they should’ve had ages ago.

They implicitly agreed to start fresh. They would never forget how close they were as kids, but they also didn’t feel the need to dwell on their falling out or the direct aftermath of said falling out. They’d both changed, and there wasn’t much one could do about the mistakes of the past except grow from them.

And so that’s precisely what they did.

 

*****

 

The engagement party was unfolding exactly how Zayn expected it to unfold.

It was bloody amazing.

As Zayn predicted, Liam pooh-poohed about how young they were and how they shouldn’t be rushing into things. Zayn gently reminded him that he’d known Louis for three-quarters of his life and that they had been dating for over a year now. They both were set to graduate next month and both had jobs lined up in the real world. Besides, Zayn thought to himself, you’d have to be daft not to see how much in love they were even after all that time.

The dinner was brilliant and the company of his mates, even better. But to be completely honest, the best part for Zayn was what happened after the party.

There were the breathless kisses in the cab on the way back to the flat they shared. (Liam had since moved in with his girlfriend and Louis was more than happy to fill the vacancy in Zayn’s flat.) Then, there was the look Louis gave him as he paid the fare, a look that said he would burst if he couldn’t have his hands all over his boyfriend in the next ninety seconds. Finally, there was that unbelievably sexy moan of relief Louis made as he shut and locked the door of their flat.

And when they made love that night, it felt like the first time--no, even better than the first time.

Quite simply, Zayn understood how to solicit _that_ noise from Louis, the one his lover made when Zayn hummed against his erection. Louis, in turn, knew how to drive Zayn mad with the way his fingertips sank into Zayn’s hips while he left rough love bites along his collarbone. They understood each other, understood how to pleasure each other, and got off on this more than anything else.

So that night, the evening of their engagement, they took their time. Zayn peppered kisses over every inch of his lover’s torso before navigating downwards and taking Louis into his mouth. Later, Zayn nearly lost his senses as his partner scissored him, stretching him open ever so slowly. The feeling was overwhelming--especially when Louis’ teasing fingers brushed against his prostrate in just the right way. When Louis finally slipped into his fiancé, he declared his love for him, the words tumbling from his lips like a mantra he’d never tire of:

_I love you, Malik._

Zayn, for his part, was quite certain he’d never tire of hearing those four words. Never in a million years.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I had a blast writing this Zouis prompt (cheers, babe!). Thanks for reading! ~Maree xx  
> Also, you can find me on tumblr: http://zqua1d.tumblr.com


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